The Tatler. a Daily Journal of Literature and the Stage 1830-09-17: Vol 1 Iss 12

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N° 12.

THE TATLER.

A DAILY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE

Price
TWOPENCE.

AND THE STAGE.

VERITAS ET VARIETAS.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1830.

THE PLAY-BILLS.

Tne TATLeR in future will contain the Play-bills of the evening. They
will be printed in an open and distinct manner, to suit all eyes ; and,
it is hoped, may serve as companions to the theatre, like the regular
bills that are sold at the doors, The measure has been adopted on
the friendly suggestion of a Correspondent, who thinks that the
public will not be sorry for this union of a paper with a play-bill ;
and that by and by, to use his pleasant quotation, TatLErs will be
“ frequent and full” in the pit and boxes. We shall be glad to see
them. Nothing will give us greater pleasure than to find ourselves
thus visibly multiplied, and to see the ladies bending over us.
Happy shall we be, to be pinned to the cushions for their sakes.
Without a play-bill, no true play-goer can be comfortable. If the
performers are new to him, he cannot dispense with knowing who
they are: if old, there are the names of the characters to learn,
and the relationships of the dramatis persone: and if he is ac-
quainted with all this, he is not sure that there may not be some-
thing else, some new play to be announced, or some new appear-
ance. The advertisements in the papers will not supply him with

the information, for they are only abridgments: and he cannot try |

to be content with a look at the play-bills at the door, for then he
would grudge his pence: and he that grudges his pence, cannot be
a genuine play-goer. How would he relish a generous sentiment,
or presume to admire a pretty face’ There is a story, in the tales
of chivalry, of a magic seat, which ejected with violence any knight
who was not qualified to sit dowa in it. If the benches ai the
theatre could be imbued with the noble sentiments that abound on

the stage, thus would they eject the man who was too stingy to pur- |

chase a play-bill.

But the above are not the only reasons for the purchase. The
Tater, for instance, will in future be sold at the play-house
doors, as well as by the newsmen. They must be so, or they would
not be play-bills. Now the poor people who sell the play-bills de-
serve all the encouragement that can be given them, for they
prefer industry to beggary, and go through a great deal of bad
weather and rejection. We may suppose that people who do this,
do it for very good reasons. They look as if they did, for they are
a care-worn race ; they defy rain and mud, and persevere in trying
to sell their bills with an importunity that makes the proud angry,
and the good-tempered smile. If you look into the face that is
plrsuing at your elbow, or jogging at the window of your coach,
you would often see cause to pity it. However, not to dwell upon
this point, or to make asad article of one that is intended to be
merry, on every Tater which these poor people sell, they will
get a half-spenny. When we consider the stress which great states-
men lay upon pence and pots of beer, in their financial measures,

we hope this will not have “ a mean sound,” except in the ears of

the mean passions of pride and avarice. For our parts we affect to
despise nothing that represents the food and raiment of mothers
and children ; though we often wonder how great statesmen can lay
so much stress upon the pence they dole out, and so little upon
the thousands they reccive.—But we shall be stopping too long at
the doors.

If a play-goer has a party with him, especially ladies, the pur-
chase of a bill gives him an opportunity of shewing how he consults
their pleasure in trifles. If he is alone, it is a companion. He has
also the glory of being able to lend it:—though with what face any
one can borrow a play-bill, thus proclaiming that he has not had
the heart to buy one, is to us inconceivable. We grant that it may
be done, once or so, out of thoughtlessness, particularly if the
borrower has given away his pence for nothing ; but after the pre-
sent notice, we expect that nobody will think of making this excuse.
It is better to purchase a bill, than to give money, even to the sel-
lers ; for you thus encourage the sale, give and receive a pleasure,
and save the venders from the temptation of begging.

A Tater, we allow, costs two-pence, whereas the common
play-bill isa penny. But if the latter be worth what it costs, will
it be too great a stretch of modesty to suppose that our new play-
bill is worth it also ? Our criticisms, we will be sworn, have, at all
events, a relish in them: they are larger; and then there is the rest
of the matter, in the other pages, to vary the chat between the acts.
There will even be found, we presume, in the whole paper, some-
thing not unworthy of the humanities taught on the stage. Now as
to the bills that are sold at the doors, we have a respect for the
common “ house-bill,’”’ as it is called, that is to say, the old unaf-
fected piece of paper, that contains nothing but the usual announce-
ments,—the play-bill of old, or “ bill o’ the play,” which has so

often rung its pleasing changes in our ears, with the “ porter, or
| cyder, or ginger-beer.”—{Formerly the cry used only to be “ por-
| ter or cyder:’’ previously to that it was “ oranges :” and lately we
| have heard “apples.” There is a fellow in the gallery at the
| English Opera, who half bawls and half screams a regular quick
strain, all in one note, as if it were a single word, of “ bottled-porter-
apples-ginger-beer.” It is as if a parrot were shouting it.]
| This old play-bill is a reverend and sensible bit of paper, pretends
| to no more than it possesses, and adds to this solid merit an agree-
able flimsiness in its tissue. But there are two rogues, anticipators
| of us respectable interlopers, of whom we must say a word, particu-
| larly one who has the face to call himself the Theatrical Examiner.
This gentleman, not having the fear of our reputation before his
eyes, sets out, in his motto, with claiming the privilege of a free
speaker. ‘ Let me,” says he, quoting Shakspeare, “ be privileged
| by my place and message, to be a speaker free.” Accordingly his
| freedom of speech consists in praising everybody as hard as he can,
and filling up ene of his four pages with puffs of the exhibitions.
| The rogue is furthermore of a squalid appearance,—* shabby” with-
out being “genteel ;” and so is his friend the Theatrical Observer.
The following is a taste of his quality. The analysis which is
given of Mr Power’s style of humour will convey a striking sense
of it to the reader: and the praises of the singers are very particular.
“Power’s Paddy O' Rafferty,” says he, “was a performance exceed-
ingly rich, and abounded with those exquisite displays of humour which
has always characterised his representation of the part. The piece was
throughout well cast, and very well supported. MELRoszr, as Captain
Coradino, introduced a song composed by Ler, ‘ Can I my love resign,’
which he sung with great sweetness and effect, and was loudly
applauded. Mrs Cuapman, as Margaritta, introduced sweetly, ‘On
the wings of morning,’ from Hoffer, which she sung very effectively.
Mrs Weston, of Covent Garden, made her first appearance as the
Countess, and gave excellent effect to the character.” How judi-
ciously, in this criticism, are our reflections roused by the emphatic
word those, and how happily are they realized! How full of effect
also are the remaining six lines! We hope these remarks will not be
reckoned invidious. If the hawkers are the critics, we are sorry ;
but then they should put their names, and the matter would become
proper.

We must not forget one thing respecting the “ house-bill,”’ which
is, that agreeably to its domestic character, it rises in value by being
within doors; costing but a penny outside the house, and two-
pence in; so that no attention ought to be paid to those insidious
decencies of fruit-women, who serious and elderly, dressed in clean
linen, and renouncing the evil reputations of their predecessors,
charge high for the honour they do you in being virtuous, and will
fetch you a glass of water for a shilling. The two-pence of these
peoples’ play-bills ought to retire before the sincere and jovial
superabundance of the TaTLER, the more virtuous because it does
not pretend to be so.

We must add, that in our play-bill the names of the author
will, we hope, be inserted. The printer also has suggested
another refinement, which in this Anglo-Gallic age we hope will be
duly appreciated; to wit, the precedence now for the first time
given to the ladies.

==

a

46 THE T

ATLER.

THE READER:

CONSISTING OF ENTERTAINING EXTRACTS FROM NEW BOOKS,
WITH OCCASIONAL CRITICISM.

France in 1829-30. By Lady Morgan. 2 vols. 8vo. [continued.}

VoitairE.—Tue Monks.—Tue Mysterious APARTMENTS.—
I really believe that nothing remains in France precisely as we left
it. To us, at least, it appears that everything is changed, Return-

ing from the Faubourg by the Rue de Bac, | looked up, as | passed |

the Quai Voltaire, to recognize the old and gloomy facade and the
closed shutters of the apartments, in which Voltaire died, and about
which there was such a mystery, and so many stories in circulation.

But the portrait of the literary Monarch over the door of the |
bookseller’s shop onthe Rue de Chaussée, excepted, (and even |

that was fresh painted,) nothing now existed in statu quo.

The mysterious shutters were removed, the windows were widely
open, the front of the house spick and span refreshed, and every-
thing about it as smart and as clean as the prettiest hdtel in the
Chaussée d’ Antin.

The trick played upon the Freres Théatins, by the Marquis de
Villette, respecting this now celebrated edifice, is pleasantly told by
Grimm. The building had originally formed part of the vast con-
vent of the Théatins, and stood next to the Hotel of Villette, who,
either through necessity or caprice, was induced to rent it from the
monks, at an enormous price, and he united it to his own house by
opening a door of communication. The lower part, which looked
on the Quai de Voltaire, he re-let to a print and bookseller, and he
made it a condition;of the agreement, that a sign should be placed
over the door, with an inscription in large gold letters,

**© AU GRAND VOLTAIRE,”
The Théatins were in despair; that this rigid order should live at
the sign of “ The Great Voltaire,” the arch-enemy of the church,
and, therefore, in their eyes, the patriarch of infidelity was perfectly
monstrous! Yet remonstrance was in vain, they could not “ rail
the seal from off the bond ;” and, what was worse, a process would
have converted a redicule into a scandal. So the sign remained un-
disturbed, and it held its place when the Théatins had lost theirs,
and had passed away, and were swept from the recollections of a
people, who will sing, “ e¢ Voltaire est immortel.”

At this hotel Voltaire arrived in 1778, accompanied by _ his
niece, Madame Denis, where he was received by his beloved “ Belle
and Bonne,” the then lovely Marquise de Villette. “ He occupies,”
says Grimm, (writing at the moment,) “a cabinet which rather
resembles the boudoir of voluptuousness, than the sanctuary of the

muses ; and it is there, they say, that Monsieur de Voltaire intends |

to pass his Easter, (faire ses Paques).” In this house, at eighty-
four years of age, he received, not only the homage of all France, but
nearly of all Europe, to which he replied, “ with all that wit,
agreeability, and politeness of which he alone had preserved the
tone.” Here, the night after his arrival, he recited rather than he
read, the whole of his tragedy of “ Jrene,’ to a select society, and
sat up till the following morning, correcting the last two acts!
Here, too, he died, exhausted by the bustle and fatigue of a

Parisian life, to which he had so long been unaccustomed, and by the |

anxiety of all classes to behold and admire him, ratherthan from an
absolute decay of his forces, even at that advanced age.
What was the fate of this historical edifice during the revolution,

I know not; but, in 1820, when we passed through Paris, the |

shutters and doors of Voltaire’s “ voluptuous cabinet,’ and bed-
room, remained constantly closed; there was even a tradition that
they were not to be opened till fifty years after his death, according
to his own express and specific injunction.
mises were indulged by literary credulity on this subject, which
were all dissipated in 1829, (a few months ago,) by the opening of
the apartments, on the death of the proprietor, avery old and
singular lady of the family of Montmorency. The mysterious
apartment was then found in just such a state as might have been

expected, after the lapse of so long a time, all dust and decay. |

The secret of its cléture lay simply in the oddity and indolence of
the lady to whom it belonged. The house, with some others in her
possession, had fallen out of repair many years back, and as she
would neither take the trouble, nor goto the expense of refitting
them, she had kept them closed, and left to her heirs the pleasure
and trouble of solving a mystery, which turned out, like so many
others of the world’s making, to be nd mystery at all. No manu-
script satires, too horrible for contemporary eyesight; no secret
mémoires, too dangerous for contemporary publication; nothing to

fight over ; nothing to burn ; nota scrap, even a letter, rewarding |

the patient expectations of the badauds of Paris; and all the
sectaries of all the academies cried out, with him, in Voltaire’s own
Micromegas, “Ah je m’en étais bien douté”” (1 thought as much.)
Visit To THE Poet Berancer in Prison.—In observing that

Beranger is the poet of his age and country, it is unnecessary to
add that he is a liberal; and a liberal of so frank and uncompro-
mising, so indiscreet a character, that since the restoration,

“* Certains gens qui pardonnent trop peu,”

(Certain persons not too apt to forgive),

have pertinaciously marked him out for a species of political per- |

secution, which has tended to the literary advantage of the victim.
it has quadrupled the sale of his works, and awaked a_ personal

Many hopes and sur- |

| interest for the man, independent of the splendid reputation of the

writer. In the early epoch of the “ return of social order,” Beran.

ger was prosecuted by the government for the publication of a ol.

lection, in which there were more witty truths than poetical fictions,

He-was tried, condemned, incarcerated in St Pelagie; and was

deprived of a small literary place which he had held with credit for
| more than twelve years. An event so apalling served but as
stronger excitement to resist the tyranny to which he was sub.
| jected; and in the dens of St Pelagie* he produced some of his
freest couplets and boldest opinions. His captivity and persecy.
tion “for liberty’s dear suke,’’ drew the attention of all France to
the poet and to his works ; and testimonies of respect and admira.
| tion, under a variety of gracious forms, came to cheer his prison,
| and to compensate for his sufferings. His second condemnation on
a government prosecution, and his imprisonment in La Force (in
1829), proves that his country has lost nothing of her interest jn
his fate. * * * * We had made the acquaintance of this celebrated
writer in 1818; when we left him the centre of many brilliant cir-
cles, and the subject of much devoted friendship. We found him
on our return in 1829, a prisoner in La Force. This was an addi.
tional reason for wishing to renew our acquaintance, and a message,
through mutual friends, from M. de Beranger, ere of his
| wish to receive our visit, increased our desire to make it. * * * *
M. de Beranger had a us, and reccived us with all the gay
| cordiality which had characterised him when we first met in the
|
|

'
|

salon of the “ Hermite de la Chaussée d’Antin.” We found him
| in society with the author of ‘Clara Gazul,’ and a lady. We
required a moment to recover the impression which had preceded
| our arrival at his chamber, a small but neat room, furnished with
| some elegance by himself. The little bed in the alcove was
draped with muslin. Vases of flowers stood on the chimney,
over which hung a picture of his late excellent and eminent
| friend the Deputé wea His table was covered with books
and writing-materials. His position, our former acquaintance, and
present visit, formed the first topics of our conversation. In answer
to some expression of sympathy, he said, “I am not so ill off
here, | assure you. I am the least restless animal (/’animal
le moins remuant) in the world; and moreover I am so circun-
stanced, that I can see none but friends. Besides,” he added, “ |
am the object of perpetua! attraction to many, who, under other
circumstances, would never think of me —you see I have the fresh-
est flowers and the finest fruits of the season.’ * * * Inthe
| course of conversation he mentioned that the room underneath was
| clearing out for a prisoner who was to be brought in at night. “ It
was an honest country gentleman,” he said, “ who chose to write
a pamphlet on the justice and necessity of re-establishing the
national guard, for which he was prosecuted.’”’—‘ What a sad tran-
sition,” I observed, “ from his woods and vineyards to La Force!”
—“ Yes, poor fellow!” said LBeranger, shrugging his shoulders,
“ he will feel it more than I have done.” In the very place where
Beranger was confined, was lodged the unfortunate Princesse de
Lamballe; and at the wicket trous!: which we had passed she was
| put todeathh * * *® The sound of some one singing in the
court below, drew 1s to the window. It was a hand-cuffed pri-
soner, who was walking under the trees. There was something
inconceivably heart-rending in the circumstance. Beranger said
that he never went down into the court to take exercise, till the
other prisoners were locked up in those dens (pointing to the iron-
grated door which opened into it). I used at first to go down,
and walk among them; but it was too painful. Their claims on
| my purse and my feelings were too exorbitant.”

Before we left him, his cheerfulness and philosophy, and the con-
versation of the circle by which he was surrounded, had banished
| every less gracious impression; and when we took our leave, it was
in repeating his own line—

‘© Qui tout est bien, méme en prison.”

The visit to such a man, in such a place, produces any other
impression than that which is desired by those who estimate the
sufferings of the free-minded and the devoted as an additional
security for their own unlimited and desolating power. Base and
dastardly indeed must be that spirit which departs not from such
scenes with a heart more determined to do and@to suffer in the
great cause of humanity; and that does not feel its sympathies kin-
dle and its indignation flame at the sight of such means, adopted
| for such ends. For what purpose is all this apparatus of tyranny,
| these padlocks upon the mind,—the jail, the gibbet, the mercenary

army, the spy, the censor, the violator of private correspondence,
the tribunal of exception, and the executioner?—to obtain the
power of doing evil. To do good, the narrowest prerogatives of
constitutional monarchy are amply abundant!

BEAF-STEAK CLUB.

| [Abridged from Bernard’s Retrospections.]

| The most constant in attendance were—Merry, Andrews,
| Topham, Woodfall, Dudley, Arabin, Bannister, with Lords Galway
' and Cavan,

| Stevens and Carey came whenever they were in town. Taylor
, and Hewardine, belonging to other clubs, could not give us an undi-
vided attention; but we had Cumberland, Colman, Pilon, Peter
Seguin, and a dozen other visitors, to supply their places.

| * M. de la Borde, speaking of this prison, observes that its apartments,
| lighted by air-holes in the roof, have no fire places,— that they are subject
to every extreme of temperature.

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THE T

ATLER. 47

Sheridan and Selwyn, our most brilliant stars, were the most |
eccentric and uncertain. The latter, however, was getting aged and
taciturn.

Sheridan sometimes brought Fox with him: they were then
another Damon and Pythias. Of the comparisons that were insti-
tuted between these gentlemen in public, I pretend to no opinion;
but in society no two men could present a greater contrast. The
“ Champion of the People” appeared to be the stupidest person at
table, till he had imbibed his bottle; and he then woke up, to put
the whole room to silence with his laughter; whilst Sheridan kept
firing and blazing away for the evening, like an inexhaustible
battery.

Sheridan was not, in the truest sense of the word, a convivialist;
he had no donhommie, or what an Englishman understands by the |
word,—good humour ; he was a satirist, and fonder of detecting the |

|
|

follies of his companions than admiring their talents or virtues: in |
lieu of good humour, he had great vanity. He went into society, |
not to sympathize with even clever men, but to find an audience. |
He required to be the centre of the circle; he seldom laughed, but |
in the manner of Sir Archy M‘Sarcasm; and he could only talk |
under the excitement of the general attention: so that he secured

this attention, I don’t think he was particular as to the grade of
his companions (provided they were not fools) ; but his comparative |
coldness and indifference to the general sources of merriment, his
evident absorption in himself, led me to think that he did not come |
among us in the way of other men, but rather to play a part, in
which he concerted his startling brilliancies, and derived his gratifi-
eation solely from the effect they produced.

After Sheridan, Fox used to be most please with Charles Ban-
nister, whose quiet and sustained humour contrasted strongly with
the sudden flashing of the manager’s wit. It was the difference of |
daylight and lightning. One evening, I remember Fox was seated
between Sheridan and Bannister, and did nothing but fill their
glasses and listen to their conversation; whilst they, making his
heal a kind of shuttlecock, hit it en each side with such admirable
repartees, that he roared aloud like a bull.

Audrews was a witty man, but his sayings were like fireworks ;—
they startled you one instant, to leave you in utter darkness the
next. You always admired what he said, and yet you never could
remember it. This might have been owing to his mode of delivery. |

We had four authors in the Club, and three editors.

Dudley, as well as Topham and Woodfall, edited a paper. With |
the public abilities of these gentlemen, of course I have nothing to
do; but Andrews, who was a friend of Topham, used to sneer at |
the former’s qualifications, with the remark, “ That if he dealt for
twenty vears in black and white, he’d never produce anything that
was read.”

One of the intelligent men of the Club was Woodfall, who, with
little wit and less humour, possessed the faculty of clothing the
most common-place subject with a degree of interest. He gave
you so much matter in so few words, went so far below the surface
of a question, and expressed himself so clearly and forcibly, yet
with such infinite modesty, that I often heard it remarked by visi- |
tors, he was a more agreeable companion for the night than many
others, whose transcending brilliancies were succeeded by intervals
of darkness. He was at this time at the height of his reputation
as a reporter, which enabled him one night to say a pleasant thing.

A certain nobleman was dead, who had been noted for the femi-
nine delicacy of his hands. The circumstance being mentioned at
the Club, the members, with their usual waggery, began looking at |
their digital extremities; and Merry called for a show of hands, to |
decide the point of who had the smallest, when Woodfall remarked, |
“Tt should be given in my favour, gentlemen; 1 have more credit |
for my shorthand, than any man in England.”

Woodfall had a great originality in his expressions, and one
evening shone upon us with considerable wit. We were speaking
of an absent member of the Club, who was also a member of the |
House of Commons (one of the “horizontals,’ as Sheridan once
called the gentlemen who stretch on the benches, in contradistine-
tion to the “perpendiculars,” those who spoke.) “ Bob’s a good
fellow,” said Andrews, “ and a good singer, but a d—d bad speaker.”
—“He’s a convenient speaker,” said Woodfall—* What do you |
mean by convenient ?”—“ Why, when Pitt and Fox are on their
legs, I am compelled to lay my ear close, and fear to lose a syllable ;
but when Mr M. rises, I cau take out a book, and understand two
persons together.”

CHAT AND MISCELLANIES.

De omnibus rebus, et quibusdam uliis—O_p Savina.
Of all sorts of things,—and some others.

Fiat anp Pxtatn.—The Duke of Brunswick is stated to be
“ flat in the face.”” He is flat all over.

A Larce Hearr.—A lady, the wife of one of the patriot Depu-

| ties, was asked what she thought of the heroic workmen at Paris.
|“ Ah!” she replied, with an affecting simplicity, “ 1 could embrace

them all.’”’

Proor or Nosimity.—A Gascon, in proof of his nobility,

_ asserted that in his father’s castle, they used no other firewood but

the batons of the different Mareschals of France of his family.

BeausourG.—The actor Beaubourg, who was extremely ugly,
playing the part of Mithridates, in Racine’s play, Madame Lecon-
vreur, who played that of Monime, said, “ Ah, sire, you change
countenance !””—a wag in the pit exclaimed, “ Let him do so—don’t

| stop him.”’—Cousin d’ Avellete.

Tue Tri-coLour.—The hues of this illustrious symbol have
been moralized thus :—The white signifies purity of intention ; the

_red, the heart’s blood which is ready to flow for it; the blue, the
| sky which embraces the world.

Non-Sxquitur.—There is an epigram by Dr Donne which is
faise in its conclusion :—
“Tam unable,” yonder beggar cries,
‘“* To stand or go.” If he says true he lies.
No; because he may lean or be held up.

Non-RuyMes.—It is curious that in so correct a writer as Pope,
and in so complete a poem as the Rape of the Lock, there should be
two instances of rhyme, which is none at all :—

But this bold Lord, with manly strength endued,

She with one finger and a thumb subdued.

The doubtful’beam long nods from side to side ;

At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.
They are both in the fifth Canto. There is another in the Essay
on Criticism :—

Unfinished things one knows not what to call,

Their generation’s so equivocal,

PRimoGENITURE in England is a badge of subjection to the Norman
Conqueror. De Lolme in his work on the English Constitution,
speaks of “ fragments of the ancient Saxon Laws, escaped from the
disaster of the Conquest, such as that called Gavelkind in Kent, by
which lands are divided equally between the sons.” See also
Blackstone, vol. 2, p. 84.—Review of Captain Basil Hall’s Travels in
America, by an American, (2nd edit)

The Brighton Guardian, speaking of an observation made by the
King to two officers, whom he asked where their regiments were
quartered (“It would be as well, gentlemen, if you were there
too” )—wishes to know what his Majesty would say, if he should

/ “stumble on a Pluralist Parson ?” He must doas the Irishman did

to the remaining rioter,—tell him to “ disperse.”

Ove ov “THE Orver.”’—A pamphlet called the Snake in the Grass
being reported (probably in joke) to be written by Lord William
Poulett, a gentleman abused in it sent him a challenge. Lord Wil-
liam professed his innocence; but the gentlemen would not be
satisfied without a denial under bis hand. Lord W. took a pen,
and began to write “ This is seratify, that the 6uk called the Snak—”’
* Oh my Lord,” said the person, “ I am satisfied: your Lord-
ship has already convinced me that you did not write the book.”—
Horace Walpole.

SpeciMEN OF THE Priv ATE JouRNAL OF Louis XVI. (1784).—
Killed in six months, 1414 head of game.
Friday, July 15.— Nothing.
Saturday, 16.—Stag hunt; killed =two.—Breakfast.—Supper.—
Rambouillet —Paid sixpence for a watch-glass to the messenger.

| Sunday, 17.—Vespers.—Keligious duties.

Desessarts.—Desessarts, a very able actor, in the company of
the Hague, having one day been caught hunting within the pre- |
serves of the Stadtholder, escaped from this scrape by a judicious |
application of his dramatic powers. One of the guards, who had
never seen this actor except in the part of princes, came up to him,
and asked by what right he came to hunt there. The actor, with-
out appearing in the least disconcerted, turned to the guard with a
tragic gesture, and exclaimed,

“Du droit qu’wn esprit vaste et ferme en ses desseins
A sur l’esprit grossier des vulgaires humains.”
(By the great right a vast and fearless mind
Has o’er the souls of grosser human kind.)

The guard, confounded at the pomp and dignity of this speech, drew

back immediately, saying, “ Ah! that is another thing: I beg par-
don, sir—I was not aware of that.”—Cousin d’ Avellete.

| given way.

| Monday, 18.—The Chase ; took one deer, and killed forty-two.
| Tuesday, 19.—Nothing.—Bath.

Wednesday, 20.—Rain compelled me to return from the rendezvous
for decr at Bacarde.—Lady Morgan’s France, Vol. 11. p. 122.

Frencu AnD EnGuish Navy.—When we read in the newspapers
of English and French midshipmen combining to celebrate the late
glorious triumphs, and marching through a town with their united
colours, we feel indeed that the last strong-holds of animosity have
In no class has the anti-gallican spirit been more kept
up than in the navy, particularly among the junior officers; yet we
see that the moment reason becomes triumphant, and cordial feel-
ings are allowed to be of some merit, the natural kindliness of
youth leaps forth to hail it.

“© One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”

But the difficulty was to get this touch of nature to reach us,
hemmed in as it were with all the hearts of the selfish.

48 THE

HAYMARKET THEATRE.

This Evening (22nd time) a Farce in Two Acts, called

A HUSBAND AT SIGHT.

The Music composed by C. E. Horn.
Baroness Louisburg, Mrs W. CLIFFORD,
Catherine, Mrs HUMBY,

Augusta Polinsky, Miss MORDAUNT,
Villagers, Mesdames Gallot, Coveney, Barnett, E. Barnett, Johnson, |
Lodge, &c.

Ferdinand Lonisburg, Mr VINING,

Gustavus Gundershoff, MrWEBSTER, Paul Parchwitz, MrWILLIAMS,

Leonard, MrLODGE, Carl, Mr BISHOP, George, MrCOATES, |
Villagers, Messrs. C. Morris, Cooke, Barnett, B. Barnett, V. Webster, |
Moore, &c. |

After which (5th time) a Drama, in Three Acts, called |

AMBITION; OR, MARIE MIGNOT.
Adapted, from the French, by Mr Thomas Mayhew, Student of Lincoln’s |

Inn.

[A lapse of about Ten Years is supposed to take place between each Act.]

Marie Mignot, (Mignot’s Niece) Miss F. H. KELLY,

Ariette Delorme, Mrs GLOVER,
Marie Mignot, (Mignot’s Daughter ) Mrs ASHTON. |
Female Guests, Mesd. Coveney, Gallot, Johnson, Barnett, E. Barnett, |
sodge, &c.
Casimir King of Poland, Mr COOPER.
The Marquis de Dinot (Marshal of France) Mr THOMPSON. |
VINING,

Lagardie, Mr
M. Modeau, Mr WILLIAMS, Gaston, Mr BRINDAL,
Mignot, (a Celebrated Cook ) Mr W. FARREN,

Guests, Messrs Bishop, B. Barnett, Cooke, Coates, C. Morris,

V. Webster, &c.
To conclude with (15th time) a Farce, in Two Acts, called

THE FIRST OF APRIL.
Mrs Belford, Mrs NEWCOMB, Clara, Mrs T. HILL,
Sir BEumpkin Pedigree, Mr W. FARREN,
General Belford, Mr GALLOT, Major Belford, Mr THOMPSON,
Colonel Airey, Mr VINING,
Captain Heartfree, Mr BRINDAL, Lieut. Leslie, Mr COVENEY,
Rough-head, Mr WEBSTER, |

Miss Parton is engaged at this Theatre, and will appear on Tuespay next. |

Bridget O’Rourke,

| Sir Leinster Leybrooke, Mr T, MILLAR,

TATLER.

ENGLISH OPERA, ADELPHI.

This Evening (7th time) a new Musical Drama called
THE IRISH GIRL!
The Music by Mr Hawes, preceded by an Overture by F. Harevy.

Miss KELLY, Lady Julia, Miss H. CAWSE,
Miss NOVELLO, Miss VIALLS.
Lord Kilmore, MrF. MATTHEWS,

Mandeville, Mr PERKINS,
Jarvis, Mr SALTER. '

Ladies,

O'Rourke, Mr B. HILL,

After which, (61st time) the Comic Operetta, called

LYING MADE EASY.
With Beethoven's Overture to Prometheus.—The Music by Mr Hawes.
Mrs Swallow, Miss PINCOTT, Sophia, Miss NOVELLO,
Mr Swallow, Mr BARTLEY,
Henry Swallow, (his Nephew) Mr THORNE, Flam, Mr WRENCH,

To which will be added the revived Musical Farce, (in One Act) entitled

“WANTED, A GOVERNESS!”
Previous to which, Grand March and Waltz, by Mr Schroeder.
Lucy Dashwood, Miss KELLY, Julia Malvern, Miss PINCOTT,
Rusty, Mr BARTLEY, Capt. Dashwood, Mr J. BLAND,
Theophilus Foxglove, Mr THORN, Higginbottom, Mr SALTER.

To conclude with the Comic Entertainment, interspersed with Songs, entitled

“MASTER’S RIVAL.”
The Music composed and selected by Mr Hawes.
With the Overture in C. by Parr.
Mrs C, JONES, Amelia Aldgate,
Tibby Postlethwaite, Mrs KEELEY.
Sir Colley Cowmeadow, Mr BARTLEY, Peter Shack, Mr WRENCH,
Paul Shack, Mr KEELEY, Captain Middleton, Mr J. BLAND,
Mr Aldgate, Mr W. BENNETT,
Mr SALTER, Mr MINTON.

Mrs Aldgate, Mrs PINCOTT,

Robin,

2 e
Barnes,

*,* Mr WH. Puitcipes will perform in ‘* Der Vampyr’? on Monday next.

ooo — —————_

THE PLAY-GOER. |
BY THE ORIGINAL THEATRICAL CRITIC IN THE EXAMINER. |
Eneuisu Opera, ADELPIIL.

By the time the summer season is over, {we shall have made
acquaintance with the round of performances at this theatre and the
Haymarket, and so be prepared for those of the winter. To know
the fittest actors and actresses, one must know them all. Besides,
by that time we shall have renewed our intercourse with the
reader.

Last night we had the pleasure of seeing one of the whimsicalities
of Mr Peake, entitled The Middle Temple, or Vhich is my Son?
The Middle Temple has little to do with it, and Which is my Son
does not much signify; but we have Mr Kestey, as a hair-brained
simpleton and a lover of dancing, astonishing us all through it with
the activity of his fatness, and a most ludicrous mimicry of opera
graces. Mr Peake has a genuine taste for drollery; he sees well
the broader capabilities of a whimsical hint or piece of character ;
and we observe he has not yet found the mine unexhausted which
he started in the’ever-memorable person and most lingering infancy
of Geoffrey Muffincap.

Changelings, or Lob-lie-by-the-Fires,—the overgrown sons of the

It is as if he had dug up a new race of

Fairies of the Pantry.

if he never intended to leave school; Brutus Hairbrain is as old an

infant as he, and more overgrown, who between silliness and
animal spirits is always dancing.
yer in the Temple, opens the door in a pirouette, and answers
visitors by a pas-de-seul. Imagine Keetry in all this, with his
earnest yet passionless face, and his fat little rotundity in a short
jacket. A lady in the seat before us never ceased giggling all the
time he was visible: and for our parts, we have not laughed so
much the whole season. The best of it is, that the activity is real,
and that Keevey dances very well.

much vivacity of motion grafted on a body so heavy, and delighted

You are surprised to see so

to see how easily he takes it. The airs and graces of the opera are

parodied with as much spirit as humour; and in the College Horn-

Muffincap was a charity boy, who seemed as

He has become servant to a law- |

pipe he is not the man to shirk an energy. Ile gives the shuffle
and the sink (we know not the scientific terms) with equal decision,
and folds his tight arms and rattles his legs with all that strenuous-
ness of intention, by which the performers of this species of dance
seem resolved to shake off their lower extremities. Mrs KEE.ey’s
exclamation in the Maid-serrant,—* What a funny little man!” is
welcomed by the audience as being very much to the purpose.

We do not enter into the plots of such pieces as the town are fami-
liar with. It is enough if we notice the good or defective points, and
enjoy the former with our readers. Mrs Kretry plays better in
this piece than in Figaro. She is quite at her ease, and her ease is
very natural and pleasant. She knows how to be ill-used like a
proper maid-servant ; and cries well. Some touches of the dialogue
in this piece are as good as the dancing. The waid-servant, who
has been crying because her lover turns out to be a gentleman, and
is going to marry her young lady, conseles herself by reflecting, that
This is

ee

“it is some comfort, however, he is to be her master.”
voluminous.

Immortat Hanpkercuter anp Stockincs.—A F-vench provin-

cial actor, not very well provided with wardrobe, was playing the
| part of Arbate in Racine’s Mithridates, when Mitridates appears in
| the third scene of the second act, and says to him—

Enofin, aprés un an, je te revois, Arbate,

(At the year’s end once more I see Arbate,)
A wag in the pit continued the speech

Avec les mémes bas et la méme cravate,

(With the same stockings and the same cravat, )
| which convulsed the house with laughter.— Comediana.

}

TO CORRESPONDENTS.
| There isa great deal of natural ability, and a real turn for reflection, in the
| communication of B. N. E. C. K.: but it is of a kind unsuitable to this
| paper. It is left for him in the hands of Mr Oawhyn, in case he should
| wish to have it back.

| It is understood that there is no engraved likeness of the person referred to
!
| by a correspondent.

| Published by Onwuyn, Catherine street, Strand; sold by Hewarp,

| Wellington street, Waterloo Bridge; J. Cuaprer, 98 Royal Exehange,
| and by all Booksellers and Newsmen.
\ C. and W. Reyneut, Printers, Broad street, Golden square.

a